


Heads and Tails

by thesocraticstare



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Animal Rescue, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-19 07:39:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13699935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesocraticstare/pseuds/thesocraticstare
Summary: Although he couldn’t quite explain it, he liked watching Jared do the cooing. He liked watching Jared, surrounded by nursing cats and their overabundant litters of kittens. And most of all, he liked seeing Jared happy, which he clearly was around these needy little creatures. If the price of the ticket was a runny nose and itchy eyes by the end of the shift, well, maybe it was a small price to pay.





	Heads and Tails

“Maybe there’s like. A shot I could get. Like, I don’t know, Depo-Provera, but for allergies.”

“Depo-Provera! Oh Richard, I don’t think that’s considered gynecologically sound anymore. I just read a great post on the Our Bodies, Ourselves blog about—”

“No, no, I know,” Richard said, even though he didn’t. “I just mean, there’s gotta be something better than endless Claritin.” He sniffed, mainly to prove his point.

“Richard,” Jared began, “You really don’t have to come with me. I know it causes you physical distress…”

“Well…”

“I appreciate you coming with me—it’s wonderful just getting to spend time with you outside of work! But I don’t like to think you’re putting your health at risk just for me.”

This was a familiar argument, and Richard considered his options. They were walking through a corridor in the sprawling Palo Alto Humane Society and Cat Shelter, headed for the room where Jared typically spent most of his fortnightly shift. No one had officially instructed him to take on the injured and sickest patients, Jared told him once, but he considered it an important duty, “and you can just tell by the looks on their little faces that the kitties appreciate it, Richard. They’re very expressive, especially the FIV-positive ones.”

When he first persuaded Jared to let him come along, Richard had struggled to explain why, exactly, he was so persistent. Yes, he was allergic to cats. No, it wasn’t anything fatal. No, he didn’t particularly want a cat of his own… or to hold one of the shelter cats, who always regarded him with a baleful eye, no matter how many sweet nothings Jared cooed into their ragged little ears. 

But… although he couldn’t quite explain it, he liked watching Jared do the cooing. He liked watching Jared, surrounded by nursing cats and their overabundant litters of kittens. And most of all, he liked seeing Jared happy, which he clearly was around these needy little creatures. If the price of the ticket was a runny nose and itchy eyes by the end of the shift, well, maybe it was a small price to pay.

They were outside the door to the recovery room now, and Jared held it open for Richard, who slinked though with his hands in his hoodie pocket. Janice, one of the full-time staff, straightened up from where she was refilling a food dish.

“Afternoon, Donald,” she said cheerfully, greeting Jared with a hug. Richard’s awkward half-wave was quelled by her leveling glance. “Richard. Ready to try getting hands-on with the cats this time?”

Knock over _one_ 5-gallon litter box, Richard thought bitterly, and these people act like you’re some kind of axe murderer—but Jared laughed lightly, placing his hand briefly on Richard’s arm.

“Richard’s giving me moral support again today,” he said. “How did Pancake’s surgery go? I don’t see her here.”

“Oh, she’s doing so well already, we moved her into general population. Well, well, look who decided to come out of hiding now that her favorite person’s here!”

A battle-scarred calico had sauntered over, bypassing Richard completely in favor of winding herself around Jared’s ankles.

“French Toast!” Jared exclaimed. “Are you ready for your eye drops, girl?”

Richard found the breakfast-themed names a little cloying, and not particularly apropos for this batch of cats; French Toast looked more like a Bruiser to him, with her chomp-marked ears and stump of a tail. At the moment, though, she was squinting lovingly up at at Jared with her one good eye as he bent down to skritch the top of her head. Scooping her up into his arms, Jared turned his attention back to Janice.

“Any other exciting developments lately?” he inquired.

“Oh, just the usual for this time of year. We’ve got more kittens than we know what to do with right now… Animal Control just busted an animal hoarder with a garage full of semi-ferals. You ever thought about fostering?”

“Sometimes,” Jared said. Richard glanced up at him sideways.

“You’d be great at it, I think,” Janice said. Richard bit the inside of his lip, but Jared just smiled.

Jared would never come right out and _tell_ him he wanted to foster. His approach was of a subtler variety, namely sending Richard relentless links to feel-good articles by animal rights advocates about the healing properties of taking in special-needs cats and the importance of adopting, not shopping for pets. At first, Richard had protested: he was hardly one to shop for a pet in the first place, given his allergies to basically every variety of dander and his semi-frequent inability to properly feed and take care of himself, let alone a helpless animal. But he quickly noticed the sad yearning in Jared’s gaze when he talked about Pancake or her littermates Sausage Patty and Link. Tagging along on these shelter visits was, if nothing else, a small attempt to make up for what he couldn’t help but feel as an injustice on his part, preventing Jared from realizing his dream of becoming a champion cat mom.

 

* * *

 

“Are you sure you’re all right? Your eyes are watering.”

“Jared, I’m fine,” Richard said, wiping his eye on what he hoped was a clean corner of his hoodie sleeve.

“French Toast _is_ shedding a lot right now. But don’t worry, I talked to Janice about her before we left and it’s definitely not mange.”

“Okay, that’s… a relief. I’m uh, glad to hear it. Hey, do you hear that?” Richard looked around, but he couldn’t find any source for the weird chirping noise, other than that it was clearly coming from something not far from the Humane Society’s parking lot.

Suddenly Jared pointed to a scrubby bush next to the sidewalk. “Oh Richard, look!”

Richard peered at the bush. It seemed to be emitting a kind of high-pitched mewl. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking for, but Jared was lowering himself into a crouch, then even lower, onto his belly. “Hey, do you, uh—”

“Oh, no—oh gosh—Richard, I knew it! Oh, don’t be scared—” Jared was already about halfway enveloped in the bush, and Richard gazed around worriedly, on the lookout for passers-by, potential witnesses.

“Do you… I mean, I could… help…”

Jared called back to him, now fully enmeshed in the bush. “Richard, it’s babies! Something awful must have happened—”

“What should I...?” Richard hated feeling useless, but he had no idea if his observations of Jared swaddling and bottle-feeding preemie kittens had any relevance in this situation. Only Jared’s khaki-clad butt was visible from without the bush at this point. Richard stared at it, swallowed, shook himself, then made a decision.

“Stay put,” he said. “I’m going to find help.”

_Help_ was maybe putting it a little strongly, but by the time Richard staggered back outside, laden with a giant cardboard box, three blankets and a towel, with a skeptical Janice in tow, he felt fully justified by the sight that greeted him. Jared had reemerged from the bush, but he had stripped off his cashmere v-neck, and his face and arms were covered in little scratches—from twigs, Richard hoped, rather than potentially-rabid claws.

“Jared!” Richard said, a quavering note of panic in his voice.

“Donald, what’s going on?” Janice demanded. But when Jared lifted his gaze from the little bundle in his lap, his beatific smile was aimed at Richard alone.

“Richard, look,” he whispered. “Once I got them wrapped up in my sweater, they just calmed right down. Look—aren’t they just little angels?”

Richard looked. Squirming their heads out of the soft embrace of Jared’s sweater were the sources of the strange, high-pitched mewling.

“Are those, um, rats?” Richard ventured. Jared very gently lifted one in his big palm. It had a long tail and Mickey Mouse ears, and it licked Jared on the cheek. He giggled. Janice tutted.

“They’re opossums! Baby opossums! Something must’ve happened to their mother—but there’s no need to be scared anymore, is there, little guy?”

“Oh, lord, another late night for the wildlife rehabbers!” Janice muttered. Richard barely heard her, entranced as he was. Jared was covered with soil, scratches, and opossum saliva; there were tear-tracks through the dirt on his face, and a dead leaf caught in his hair, and a family of literal vermin squirming contentedly in his lap. Richard thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight.

“That’s… that’s so sweet, Jared. Wow. I, uh…” He felt the last of his resolve crumbling when the opossum in Jared’s hand licked him again and Jared beamed up at him with the biggest, shiniest eyes imaginable.

“Let’s get these guys inside,” he said. “And get you cleaned up. And then—I mean, if you wanna… no pressure or anything, but uh. Maybe we could look at the cats up for adoption?”

The opossums squeaked. Jared looked too choked up to respond, and just nodded, beaming even more hugely. _Totally worth the allergies,_ Richard thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day (belated), my bros! Remember, orphaned baby opossums are best cared for by licensed wildlife rehabilitators, no matter how convincing your head of Biz Dev might be.


End file.
